


Behind the hatred there lies

by quietwandering



Category: Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26061835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietwandering/pseuds/quietwandering
Summary: A murderous desire for love
Relationships: Johnny Marr/Morrissey, Morrissey/Andy Rourke
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	Behind the hatred there lies

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I've written half a dozen public sex fics at this point but what's one more, huh? Also, I feel like this is slightly OOC as the Gallagher brothers are slowly corrupting me - so, sorry about that.
> 
> Please note Johnny/Moz are only implied/referenced in this piece. 
> 
> Title is [The Boy with the Thorn in His Side](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDDyE8pGN1k) by The Smiths

The show had been incredible, one of our best so far. My ears were still ringing, and I staggered back to the dressing room with a blissed out look on my face that had nothing to do with the drugs in my system. My hands ached and my calluses burned, but I was content, I was fulfilled. This really was the best job in the world.

Johnny and Mike had already started to help the roadies pack up our equipment while Mozzer sat himself down too close to me on the grimy couch. I was well aware of what he wanted, with his half-lidded eyes and his shallow breath, but I ignored him and pulled out my cigarettes instead. "Fuckin' amazing, innit? All this?" 

"Crudely put but...yes. We seem to have put on quite the concert tonight." Morrissey's hand brushed along my shoulder and down my arm, coyly pulling at the buttons of my denim jacket. I had sweated through it ages ago but was too tired to take it off at this point. "Andrew -"

"Yeah, I know. Give us a bloody minute," I huffed, but Morrissey continued to lean in, insistently kissing along my neck. I wanted to push him away for being so demanding, but that'd have just made him more determined to have me. "You're always so impatient, Mozzer."

Morrissey hummed before he tugged at my wrist and pulled me to my feet. "Follow me. I've something to show you."

"I bet," I mumbled but followed along anyways, stubbing my cigarette out before we left the room. We'd only taken a few steps before I was pushed into a suffocatingly small storage closet. My elbows skimmed the shelves on either side, and I knocked over about three dozen bottles of cleaner as Morrissey shoved himself in behind me. "Fuck me. We are _not_ gonna bloody snog in here. I can hardly even _move_."

"I fail to see the problem." Morrissey slammed the door closed somehow, and I was surprised to hear the click of a lock. Why would a closet _this_ small have a lock on the inside? "As you well know, I'm always quite fond of when you're helplessly pinned beneath me."

" _Moz_ , fuck -"

My ass was more or less perched on one of the shelves, with my back painfully pressed against another, and I tried to keep my feet firm against the floor as Morrissey climbed into my lap. I held onto his narrow hips for leverage and tried to breathe despite the overwhelming smell of bleach and ammonia, shuddering as Moz roughly bit at my neck. I knew he was only trying to mark me because it’d make Johnny jealous, and I was fine with that. 

I let my hands shift down to Morrissey's arse, squeezing it some before I tentatively pushed my hips up. The shelf creaked a bit but didn't give way entirely so I dragged Mozzer a little closer (if that was even fucking possible at this point) and steadily rocked our hips together. Morrissey moaned, soft and low - his voice at that perfect pitch to make my skin feel too tight and too warm, and I mouthed at his neck some in return, letting myself get lost in the pleasure. 

"Andy - I want you…" Morrissey shifted restlessly against me, turned himself around to press his arse against the line of my cock - his gangly frame knocking even more bottles off the shelves in the process - and I swore I was gonna accidentally give myself a concussion in here. "Please, _please._ "

"Mozzer -"

"I'm...from Johnny. Earlier." Morrissey had his eyes shut, a high flush on his cheeks, as he continued to slide against me in a sinfully tempting way. I swore and tried to hold him still, but there was too much sweat pouring off me to really get a firm grip on him - god, it was burning the fuck up in here. 

"I've not got a fuckin' rubber, Moz. We've gotta wait," I said, my voice cracking about three times. I shifted to try and relieve some of the pressure on my back but it was useless. " _Moz._ "

Morrissey had already started to shove his jeans down (honestly, they were so bloody loose it was a wonder they stayed on at all), and I squeezed my eyes shut, tried to swallow, as he reached back for my zipper. I should've had the strength to stop him, tell him no, but it was too late for that. I was already nudging into his backside and, as promised, he was already slicked up from a copious amount of sweat and a bit of mostly dried up lube. Fuck. _Fuck._

I could hardly bring myself to move. It was just too fucking much - the heat of him, the tightness. I grabbed onto one of the shelves and buried my face in Morrissey's shoulder, panting and dizzy, tears pricking at the corner of my eyes as he started to bounce a little. This was going to be the death of me, I just knew it. I was going to suffocate in this bloody closet, keel right over on this dirty floor, and I'd haunt Mozzer for the rest of eternity.

My toes curled up tightly in my boots, my calves cramping something awful, as I began to feel my balls draw up. I was already so close to coming, with all the adrenaline still pumping through me from earlier, and I shakily threw one of my arms around Morrissey's midsection, clutching him to me despite the abundance of sweat. "Mozzer, I'm not gonna...not gonna fuckin' -"

“Yes, _yes_ -” My hand was tugged down, and I roughly palmed at Morrissey's cock, wet and slick and achingly hard. I could hardly get my hand around him before I felt him shudder and start to come, his release splattering against his stomach and along the back of my hand. 

"Would you two hurry it the _fuck_ up in there! We need to get going."

Johnny sounded righteously pissed off from the other side of the door, shaking the handle with a vengeance, but Morrissey just rocked himself harder against me in response, batting one of the bottles of bleach to the floor like he was making a point. "I gotta pull out, fuck - _fuck_ , Mozzer. C'mon, up. _Up_."

Morrissey grinded himself down instead, sighed and wriggled like he was making himself comfortable, and I was entirely aware that this was less about me and more about making sure he pissed off Johnny as much as possible - I just couldn't bring myself to give a fuck, not now, not _this_ close.

"Oh, _fuck_ -"

I should've been quieter, with Johnny right there listening to us, but it felt like my fucking brain was liquefying in here. My entire body shook as I came, barely able to keep conscious from the sheer intensity of it, and I twisted up off the shelf, feet skidding against the floor, as I tried to fuck myself deeper into that tempting heat. 

I'd hardly had a second to breathe before Morrissey jumped to his feet and flung the door open, shoving past Johnny like he was an inconvenience. I fumbled to put my dick away as Johnny stood inches away from me with a dangerous look in his eye. God, and my bloody _zipper_ was stuck - 

"Glad to see you two are all finished up in here. Should've just had the van take Mike and I back to the fuckin' hotel already."

There was nothing I could say that would calm him down - him and Mozzer had probably had a big spat earlier, and I was just a bystander on the battlefield. Johnny glared at the side of my neck before he stomped away, cursing loudly at nothing in particular, and I struggled to my feet, hoping I'd not have to hail a cab again.


End file.
